


Take a Run at the Sun

by outruntheavalanche



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, M/M, Not!Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-07-12
Packaged: 2018-12-01 11:02:49
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11485023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outruntheavalanche/pseuds/outruntheavalanche
Summary: Two months after Dean’s deal came due and invisible hellhounds dragged his soul kicking and screaming into the Pit, Victor Henriksen showed up on the doorstep of the house Sam was sharing with Bobby Singer.AU in which Henriksen didn’t die and finds Sam with the intention of joining the hunters’ ranks.





	Take a Run at the Sun

**Author's Note:**

> I just found this in an old folder of unfinished fic!!! I was pretty pissed Victor died. It was gonna end up with Sam/Victor. Not sure if Dean was actually gonna come back.

Two months after Dean’s deal came due and invisible hellhounds dragged his soul kicking and screaming into the Pit, Victor Henriksen showed up on the doorstep of the house Sam was sharing with Bobby Singer.

Henriksen looked leaner then Sam remembered, like he’d been gone a real long time and had only just come back. His movement was tentative and deliberate, calculated, and he trailed his hand up along the wooden railing as he ascended the steps. It was as though he was just relearning how to move in spaces that weren’t cramped and claustrophobic.

“—Agent Henriksen,” Sam managed before his throat tightened up on him. The last Sam had heard of Victor Henriksen, a reporter was tallying up a list of dead—a list that included himself and Dean, as well. 

Bobby coughed over Sam’s shoulder and passed two beers into his hands. “Wasn’t expecting any company,” Bobby said from behind Sam’s shoulder. He flicked flinty, suspicious eyes on their visitor.

Sam looked down and turned the dewy bottles in his hands, throat clicking. He tried again, silently praying words wouldn’t fail him yet again. “Agent Henriksen—you’re. You’re—”

“Dead?” Henriksen finished for him. He crossed his arms over his chest and Sam could see raw, fresh-looking scars running up and down his arms like the skin had been ripped off to expose the muscle beneath. “Yeah,” he continued, “I am. ’Bout as dead as you and your brother, actually.” He paused before starting again. “I got out. Somehow, by the grace of the good Lord, I got out.”

Sam couldn’t stop the flinch in time, and he knew Henriksen had seen it. “Yeah,” Sam said, thrusting out a beer to him to divert his attention, “by the grace of the good Lord. Thirsty? You look like you could use a drink.”

Henriksen took the bottle from Sam gratefully and unscrewed the cap. Sam found himself staring at the burnt skin snaking out from under the collar of Henriksen's gray t-shirt. When he cleared his throat, Sam ducked his head and focused on his own beer and the droplets of moisture trickling slowly down the side. Bobby hovered close behind, watching, chipped wooden rosary beads trapped between his stubby fingers.

“To—to life,” Sam finally said, reaching out and clicking his bottle against Henriksen's. “To life. And to luck.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Henriksen tipped his head back, Sam averting his gaze yet again, and took a long pull.

When Henriksen didn’t start belching thick black smoke and demonic, peel-the-paint-off-the-walls screams didn’t start assaulting Sam’s eardrums, he figured they were in the clear.

Henriksen looked at Sam over his beer. “I’ve been looking for you for two months,” he said, licking at his bottom lip. “Took me two months, but I finally found you.”

Sam managed a smile, but it was weak, lacked resolve. “Just like the good ol’ days, huh.”

“Just like the good old days,” he echoed, a faint, sliver of a smile crossing his face and disappearing so rapidly, Sam wondered if he didn’t just imagine it. 

Bobby stepped back, nudging Sam aside. “Why don’t you come on in and make yourself at home?”

The three of them headed inside 

“I need you to help me, Sam,” Henriksen said. He looked at Sam, Bobby behind him, gaze unwavering. “I want you to train me.”

“Train you? For what?” Sam blinked in innocent confusion.

“To become a hunter.” Henriksen said. “I know what’s out there. I want to help you fight it.”

Sam worked his jaw and set the bottle of beer down on the porch railing. “Agent—”

“Please,” he interrupted, taking another sip of beer. “Call me Victor.”

“—Victor, I can’t. I’m sorry. I—my brother.” Sam faltered, glancing briefly at Bobby for—reassurance, strength. “My brother’s in trouble and that’s all I’ve been focusing on the last two months. Focusing on doing whatever it takes to get Dean back.”


End file.
